


What They Deserve

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, F/M, I might expand this, Revelations, Unbeta'd, especially on Jon's part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8096326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: Jon has to tell her the truth. Even if it means losing perhaps the only person he has left.





	

**Author's Note:**

> By request, I'm posting this to Archive.

Tonight he must speak to her.

Jon knows he is likely to lose perhaps the last loved one he has when he does. He’s imagined her expression of horror when he makes his confession a thousand times. But he can keep it a secret no longer. She’s asked if he needs her to marry to secure the Riverlands or the Vale. Littlefinger has not stopped trying to convince her to be his bride. She has started perusing prospective brides for Jon, entertaining those vassals with properly eligible young daughters— Lord Manderly has two granddaughters of marriageable age, Lord Royce has a daughter, so do the Blackwoods, Lord Mallister has a niece, the Forresters have two daughters…

Jon cannot stand to hear of it any longer. And if he goes off to face the enemy without ever having told her, he’ll never forgive himself. He has to know, at the very least, if there is hope.

There most certainly isn’t. But Jon is prepared for that. He knows he’s not likely to survive this war. But he can make peace with that. He’s carried immense guilt with him ever since he was declared king. All the accomplishments his new vassals attributed to him are really his sister’s. Sanssa is the rightful heir to the North. And she will make a great ruler. If he dies, the North will be safe. He can be ready to die again.

But not if there’s a chance of a life worth living. Jon thought he’d never fall in love again. And he hasn’t felt entirely comfortable with being alive again. It wasn’t natural. And, despite the nothingness that greeted him beyond the blades of his former brothers, the emptiness was better than the pain and the cold. Jon felt so wrong, so unnatural, so unready to live again. All that seemed ahead of him was more battle, a likely futile war for a realm that didn’t even care enough to protect itself.

He felt the stirrings of a will to truly live again when Sansa promised him home. But even then, he was all too ready to die, and stay dead. Even after being crowned, his kingship brought him nothing but guilt.

He began to feel his will to go on grow, though. And it took him a while to realize why. He found he wasn’t alone anymore. He found that he wanted something. That he was feeling those things once again that made a man want to embrace life.

At first, he didn’t want to admit it to himself. She’s his sister. It’s unnatural. All the laws of gods and men reviled such love. But Jon reminds himself that he actually knows for himself that there are no gods, not really. The laws of the gods are just the laws of men, based on what men have decided nonexistent beings want. It’s all fantasy, all nothingness.

Jon knows real crime. He has the scars to prove it. But loving Sansa this way… who would it harm? A nasty voice in the back of his mind whispers the name ‘Lannister’. But it was more the deceit, the cruelty, the betrayal that birthed the War of the Five Kings, not the incest itself. The Targaryens wed brother to sister for years, after all, without causing wars.

Perhaps it might be difficult for others to accept, but there were many among his subjects who thought of him as a god. They saw him as the leader they needed. He still intends to be that leader. As long as he can fight for the woman he loves. As long as he can come home to what he wants.

What concerns Jon is Sansa herself. She was Cersei Lannister’s prisoner. She suffered at the hands of the product of the Lannisters’ affair. She is a proper lady. A good, sweet creature who was devoted to making things as they “should be”. And she has suffered as a result of the lusts of men.

But Jon hopes, just a little, that maybe, maybe… If he speaks to her. If he explains things. If he assured her of his love, she might be willing to consider it.

Jon steels himself outside the heavy oak door to her chambers and knocks. She invites him in immediately, casually. They drink together in her solar every night. She sits in her usual place by the fire, placing some sewing aside to pour tankards of mulled wine for them both. Jon tries to keep his hand from shaking as he accepts his drink, and takes his usual place beside her.

Sansa resumes her sewing, brushing a lock of red hair from her eyes before unpinning her needle. In the fire light, her hair looks copper. And Jon cannot help but admire the nimbleness and form of her long, tapered fingers.

“What are you working on?” He asks.

“An image of The Maiden and the Mother for Wylla Manderly,” Sansa replies. She stretches out the blue linen. There are images of two women, surrounded by light, one of the women half-finished.

Jon swallows. “Lovely. As usual.”

Sansa smiles genuinely and her cheeks take on the slightest, prettiest blush he’s ever seen. “Thank you.”

They sit in silence for a while, not an uncommon occurrence for them. They’re often able to communicate without words. She knows him so very well.

Well enough to eventually speak up. “There’s something you want to speak of. It’s bothering you. Tell me.”

Jon clears his throat. She’s followed through on their vow to trust one another. She’s told him everything. He can’t repay this trust by keeping things from her.

“I’ve been thinking about our… Our arrangement,” he says his mouth suddenly seeming dry as a bone. He cringes as he tries to wet his tongue with the wine. Arrangement? Really? “I… You… I would like very much for you to be Queen in the North.”

She freezes, eyes widening. Slowly, she turns her head to look at him. “You want to abdicate?!”

Of course that’s what she thinks. Jon silently rails at himself. He feels like an utter coward. “No, no! Of course not!”

“I don’t understand,” she replies, her brows furrowing.

“I want you… I want you by my side, Sansa.” He reaches out and lays his hand on hers.

There’s silence. Jon watches as her exquisite face falls into a reserved, neutral expression. Her court face, her mask. The one she always wears when most agitated.

Her voice is hoarse and whispery as she finally begins to speak. “I already rule with you, Jon.”

He can tell by the look in her eyes that she does, in fact, grasp his true meaning. Or at least suspects it. But she is unwilling to give voice to it. It’s up to him, as it should be.

Jon downs his tankard, silently commanding himself to act. But just as he opens his mouth to confess, there’s a great pounding on the door.

“King Jon! Princess Sansa!” Brienne of Tarth’s frantic voice calls from outside, “You must come at once! It’s a miracle! A bloody miracle!”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

She sits by his bedside as he sleeps, resembling her mother more than ever. Sansa is less disheveled, less sick-looking than Catelyn Stark was all those years ago. But still, she sits by Bran’s bed as the young man sleeps, her eyes puffy from weeping.

Jon isn’t sure what to do. Seven Hells, he’s not even sure who he is anymore. The only thing in his life that has shocked him more was his resurrection.

He feels now, almost as if he is being resurrected again. A new life. A new name. A new truth.

He enters the chamber quietly. “How is he?”

Sansa swallows. “His fever is broken. His heartbeat is strong. He shall be fine.”

“Then perhaps you might go rest yourself? Return to your own bed?” Jon suggests. She’s been by Bran’s bedside for two days now. Not as obsessively as Catelyn had been after Bran’s fall. The last remaining Stark son sleeps and wakes regularly, he eats and speaks and is not at death’s door. Sansa eats and bathes, though she prefers to sleep in a cot she had the servants set up.

She shakes her head. “When Bran finally woke from his long sleep, Mother had left Winterfell to investigate what happened to him. They never saw each other again. Bran felt a bit betrayed by it. And he missed her terribly. And Mother… Gods, how she must have felt. Remember how she was when he fell? She was by his bed for weeks. She was a mess. I barely recognized her.”

“I remember,” Jon says, his heart twinging as he recalls his last encounter with both Bran and Lady Stark.

“But, at the very least, Bran had others. Robb, Rickon, Old Nan, Hodor, Summer, Maester Luwin. But they’re all gone. Even Summer is gone. His wolf was killed, just like mine. I… don’t want him to be alone when he wakes.”

She pauses and bends over, reaching beneath her chair and retrieving a leather-bound stack of parchment. “I have not been neglecting my duties, though. Here are all the household reports, as well as copies of my letters to Seagard, Ironoaks, Pinkmaiden, and Gulltown.”

Jon smiles softly. “Thank you, but I did not come for that.”

“Bran has only just fallen back asleep. I don’t want to wake him.”

“That’s not the reason, either. Sansa… We need to discuss this… What it means.”

She folds her hands in her laps and purses her lips. “I meant what I said back on the ramparts, and I say it again now and mean it no less than I did then: You are a Stark to me.”

Jon feels himself melt slightly. But before he can respond, she continues.

“That being said, we can’t pretend that my feelings direct the rest of the world. You have an Aunt currently storming Shipbreaker Bay with an immense army, three dragons, and Ironborn, Reachmen, and Dornish forces supporting her. From her reputation, I doubt she’ll be too pleased to discover she has a long lost nephew with arguably a strong claim to the Iron Throne than she does. As an ally, she’d be invaluable. As an enemy, she shall be our undoing. Even if Rhaegar never married Lyanna, you’ve already assumed one crown in spite of bastard status. There’s a long history of Blackfyre Rebellions. Not to mention, we’re laying independent claim to half of Westeros. She might have agreed to allow Yara Greyjoy to crown herself, but the Iron Islands are a pinch of salt against the veritable banquet we’ve claimed. But there is good news, at least. She’s unwed.”

“Irrelevant,” Jon says at once, “I do not wish to marry her.”

Sansa cringes. “Jon, honestly… You of all people must understand it’s your duty to protect your people, whether it be through battle or matrimony.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless, I shall be a most unwilling groom.”

“They say she is young, and the most beautiful woman from here to Qarth. Strong, too. She has conquered not just cities of Slaver’s Bay, but the entirety of the Dothraki. And righteous, for she ended slavery in her lands. She has Tyrion Lannister as her Hand, and I know you like him and have a high regard of his judgment. With her wealth, her armies, her dragons, she could save us all.”

“She has as much reason to fight this war as we do. The White Walkers are no less a threat to the Iron Throne than they are to us. If she is half as righteous, strong, and wise as the stories say, she will see that.”

“Even if she decides to decimate the Others, though, that doesn’t mean she’ll stop there. What’s to stop her from turning her dragonfire on Winterfell?”

“The fact that half the realm will unite to violently rebel against her if she does. I don’t want the Iron Throne. She can have it. I will make that clear to her. Many alliances have been forged through means aside from matrimony before.”

“If she makes a suit, do you think she’ll take rejection well? This woman is a conqueror, Jon. Telling her ‘no’ has not worked out well for most others she’s encountered. Honestly, Jon, this is an obvious solution. Why are you being so stubborn?”

Jon kneels before her, but his eyes focus on hers hard. “Sansa, I think you know why.”

She pulls away. “I am not sure what I know, Jon. Tell me, are you happy to learn the truth?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “In many ways, yes. I was happy to finally know who my mother was, to know that I wasn’t a blight on Ned Stark’s honor. I was sad about other things. The circumstances of my birth, The fact that my newfound heritage will certainly cause new issues for us. Especially with the dragon queen sailing from the East. I’m a bit angry at Father for lying to everyone for so long. Mostly I’m confused by what this all means. How it really changes things, how it should change things, how it shouldn’t. But yes, Sansa, overall I’m happy.”

“And what are you happiest about, Jon?”

He groans slightly, then exhales deeply. “The same reason I don’t want to marry Daenerys Targaryen. You.”

If she is surprised by this answer, she hides it well. No, it appears her lack of engagement was based on denial, not ignorance. Jon isn’t surprised. She’s an intelligent woman. But also one reluctant to face things that conflict with her worldview. She’s had to face quite a few harsh truths in recent years, but he can understand her reluctance at facing this.

That doesn’t stop it from hurting.

Sansa closes her eyes. “Jon… Why?”

It seems an odd question to him. “Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks her.

Her eyes open and she stills for a second, her breathing growing deeper. “Jon, I’m broken.”

His heart aches to hear her say this. He’d expected her protests to be over their past relationship. Not this.  “Aren’t we all?” He shakes his head. “Sansa… You know what happened to me. Who am I to turn away from ‘broken’? I don’t care if you’re cracked down the middle. You’re still perfect. You’re still everything I could ever want.”

She shakes her head. “You only think so because that’s how I act, Jon. I was trained from birth to be as perfect and pleasing and proper as possible. But it’s a farce. You know I spent a year pretending to love Joffrey after he cut off my father’s head? I play the part that’s needed. Here, since I escaped from Winterfell, I’ve been the strong, determined, shrewd councillor and leader. But I… Inside, I feel hopeless, scared, confused, angry. I pretend I’ve moved on from what happened with Ramsay, but… I still feel it. I retook my home, just as I intended, but I still don’t feel like I’m safe. I close my eyes at night and see him coming through the door to… And sometimes, I wonder if I’ve been broken to the point where I’ll never be able to love at all. At least, love in the way I thought I would when I dreamt of knights and heroes. Is that really all you could ever want, Jon? A woman who may never be able to love, never be able to truly regain her home, never be able to trust?”

The room feels very cold all of a sudden. And Jon feels as broken as he’s ever felt. “I also thought I couldn’t fall in love again, Sansa. Not after Ygritte. And I thought I was done caring about anyone or anything again, after my brothers killed me. But I know better now. You’re the reason why.”

“Jon, I was your sister.”

“Sansa, I don’t care.” He clenches his fists and takes several deep breaths. “I died, Sansa. I was dead for days. I saw what lies beyond. And you know what I found? Nothing. All that we’ve had preached to us since we were children, about magical beings looking out for us and judging us and taking us someplace after we died based on what we do in this life… None of it is real. All we have is right now and what we can take from this life. And I just want to have some happiness. I just want to give it. We’ve both suffered so much, and there is no one in this world or any other that can judge us. I intended to tell you how I felt before Bran returned, before we knew the truth. Because I was done caring. All I care about now is what I can make of this life with you. Sister, cousin… It’s meaningless. I am done sacrificing all I want and all I love.”

“And what of what I want?”

He stops and finds himself reddening. He sounds like a spoiled child. “I’d do anything to give it to you, Sansa.”

“You can’t, Jon. Because I don’t know what that is. I can’t offer you anything.”

“You’re wrong,” he insists, “You have so much to offer, Sansa. You’ve proven that. You may say it’s all an act, but that hasn’t changed the fact that you’ve come this far, accomplished this much. All of that is you, all of that is yours. Your doubts, your fears, your misgivings can’t take that away from you. You’ve overcome so much.  I’m the one who should worry about what I can offer you.”

Sansa shakes her head. “That’s absurd, you’re brave and gentle and strong—”

“Anyone would say the same of you.”

She gazes at him with uncertainty. “You know, you’re exactly the sort of man Father would want for me.” This warms his heart more than she’ll ever know. But she continues. “But I’m not sure I’m ready, Jon.”

He bows his head. “I understand. You don’t have to— I don’t expect you to just throw yourself into my arms at once. But… I needed you to know. Even if you’re still waiting, I’m yours. I’ll be yours until the day I die. ”

She bites her lip. “If I asked you to marry Daenerys Targaryen for the good of the North, would you do it?”

He freezes.

It’s not a question he expected, but it’s one that is purely Sansa. One that the woman who (somewhat) agreed to wed Ramsay Bolton out of the belief it would regain her home for her would ask. One obvious for a girl who was raised to marry to benefit her family and serve a husband for all of her days. Understandable for a woman trying to get her people through war and winter. One a leader would ask.

He understands, but it pains him nonetheless to hear it. He considers this. “I would, under a few conditions.”

She hesitates before asking what those conditions are.

“First, that you are properly taken care of first. Not just with a good and proper husband who would treat you the way you deserve to be treated. But with your rights to Winterfell and the North intact–”

“–Bran—”

Jon looks at his sleeping cousin and squirms. Hating himself, he speaks. “—Bran is a sick boy who cannot sire children. And he is not the one who took our home back for us. That was you. You’ve been ruling Winterfell with me from the moment we took this place back. You were a decisive force in our victory over Ramsay. That’s right of conquest, as far as I am concerned. I’d have you properly installed, with measures taken to make sure no one could take your authority or freedom from you. I’d also make sure you were given the means you need to make sure the North recovers from all of this devastation. I’d make sure you and all fo House Stark recieved royal favor. And I’d ask… I’d ask that you allow me to visit.—Not to share your bed—” He says, reading her expression. “But simply to be here with all of you.”

Her icy blue eyes begin to well up. “Of course, Jon. This shall always be your home. Nothing shall change that.”

Jon smiles slightly. “I am glad, Sansa.”

She leans over, resting her head in her hands. “You know, I resented you so much that day, when they named you king.”

His smile dies. “I can’t blame you for that, Sansa. You were utterly ignored. They praised me for your triumphs.”

“To be honest, Jon, now… I don’t think I’d want to rule the North without you. As I said, most of the time, I can’t even register that I’m home again because of what happened last time I was here. But when I’m with you, I feel a little closer to it.”

His heart swells at this. “Truly?”

She lifts her head and nods. “I don’t know if that’s love— well, I mean, it’s obviously love, but I’m not sure if it’s the love you feel for me. That’s what I fear. I do love you. And I love Bran. I love Arya. I love the ones we’ve lost. I am beginning to love Brienne and Podrick. And, as terrible as it may sound, I love Theon. I love poor Margaery. I loved Old Nan and Septa Mordane and Hodor and Ser Rodrick and Jory and Jeyne and Beth. But it’s the other sort of love. That’s what I’m not sure I’m capable of. It’s just that it involves something that has been used to hurt me. I’ve had men looking at me for years now. And I know what it is to be wanted. But the way I’ve been used by those who desire me, at this point I’m not sure I can reconcile desire and love. I feel like all the stories and songs I loved as a girl were lies to get me to be more compliant whenever I was going to be sold off to a husband. I look back on those tales and I wonder if Florian just wanted to share Jonquil’s bed. If the Prince of Dragonflies really violated Jenny and just married her out of pride, or perhaps because deep down he did not want to be king. If ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’ is more realistic than ‘My Lady Wife.’ It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t know if you’ve been fooled as well, or if whatever you’re feeling can truly last.”

Jon takes a deep breath, cursing the pain inside her and all those responsible for it. “Believe it or not, Sansa, I think I know how you feel.”

She cocks her head. “Are you sure?”

“Sansa, my brothers killed me. There’s so much now that I can’t reconcile with all of the good things I was promised. It began with the Watch itself. I went there to secure and prove my honor. To serve amongst what I thought were righteous men who devoted their lives to service. Instead, I arrived to find a den of criminals and scared young men forced there, all of them shoved together to fight the wrong enemy and protect peopel who didn’t even care. Even the honorable lords I respected were willing to stomach a man who raped his daughters and sacrificed his sons. And the brutish wildlings we were forced to fight, many of them were just people trying to survive.

“And even after I thought I’d secured my loyalties— giving up the woman I loved, getting three arrows in the back from her, killing a man I respected, nearly dying, suffering the abuse of men like Janos Slynt and Alliser Thorne, even leading the men against a hundred thousand Free Folk— it wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter what I told them. What any of the men who had seen the things I’d seen told them. They murdered me. Men who had called for me to be their leader. Men who had fought alongside me. Even a boy who I’d taken under my wing, was grooming to be my successor, who I’d fostered and trained and cared for. He was the killing blow. And in death… Even the Old Gods, with no real teachings or dogma, even they promise peace after death for those who have lived righteously. But I died and there was nothing, nothing at all. Just emptiness.”

He folds his hands and closes his eyes. “Everything I’d been taught… I was told growing up that I could attain honor through service and duty and honor and fighting for others. That my blade could make me a hero. I think that’s just something they feed us to make us more compliant in marching off to war to fight for people who don’t care against people who are likely no different from us. The righteousness and heroism of the Watch was a lie. The bond of brotherhood there was a lie. The wars we were expected to fight… even they were false.”

He takes a deep breath and tries to hold back his tears. “Fighting used to be what I did with Robb in the yard, something taught to me by Ser Rodrick and Father, men who loved us. A means to righteousness, glory, and heroism. Something men did among comrades in arms. The thing that solidified great friendships and unbreakable bonds between men. You fought alongside men who would fight for you, die for you, and you’d do the same for them, all to help keep foul enemies at bay. They sang songs of it. Even the dead gained glory and were remembered lovingly.

“But no. It was all just to make a weapon of me. Even when there are evil men on certain sides, most of the time they’re not the ones who are vanquished. It’s the innocent young men who are forced to fight for them, the innocent people caught in the crossfire. And you’re one of the people killing them. We tell ourselves we have to, and in many cases that might be true, but that makes it worse, not better. Even after I realized that the Watch was full of criminals and orphans, I was still told that there, a man got what he earned. Uncle Benjen told me that himself. I didn’t earn those blades in my chest. I earned better from the men I called my brothers. I swore my life away to them, swore vows before a Heart Tree only to learn that there was no one there who was listening.

He clenches his fists. “Since then… When I fought in that battle, even knowing I was fighting alongside men who had declared themselves for me, men I’d saved, men whose families I’d saved, all throughout it. I never felt like I was truly with them. I believed I was alongside my men when I fought in the Watch. But those men betrayed me. And I couldn’t be sure that Tormund or Wun-Wun or Davos or whomever… what if they suddenly decided I was a traitor for whatever reason and stabbed me. If my brothers could do that, anyone can. Now, there are only enemies and possible traitors. There are only blades, there’s only blood. Even in the battle against Ramsay, I am positive most of the men I killed there had no choice, just wanted to keep themselves and their families safe. And don’t get me wrong, I’d do it again, but…” He takes a few deep breaths. “I feel that I may never be able to trust those I fight with again, that I shall never be able to fight without feeling like a murderer. Because that’s all it is.”

Sansa clasps his hands in hers, and their eyes meet. Both of them are weeping.

“I would do anything to spare you that, Jon.”

“You can’t, Sansa.” He shakes his head again. “The only consolation I have is that the next enemy we face isn’t made up of living men. But what comes after? How many wars did Father fight in his lifetime? How many did he see? He died at six-and-thirty. He was alive during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He fought in Robert’s Rebellion and the Ironborn revolts. Even his death helped launch the War of the Five Kings. Even if we survive this and destroy the White Walkers, what comes afterwards? Cersei Lannister still lives, she still vows vengeance upon you. The Reach and Dorne march against her. The Ironborn are split in two, one side attacking Westeros, the other side sailing here to wage war with my Aunt. My Aunt, who may decide to attack us because of my relation to her and our families’ history. And even if all of those conflicts are resolved, a few years after… who knows?”

“You don’t have to fight in every war, Jon.”

“That doesn’t mean I can give it all up.”

She closes her eyes. “Gods, I feel so petty.”

He grips her hand tightly. “Don’t. Don’t do that. There is nothing petty in what you’ve suffered. You’ve done everything you can. You’ve made every sacrifice. It’s people like you who can spare people conflicts, Sansa.”

“You died, Jon. You could have died in battle. You still could. You’ve suffered such pain.”

“Women die in childbirth. They suffer great pain. They suffer when they’re used as you were. I bet you have as many scars as I do after Joffrey and Ramsay. You don’t even get to be remembered for that. They don’t sing songs for that. And at least I’m given a chance to protect myself, to make decisions. There’s so much in place to keep you from that. Do you think that if you were a man that I’d have been named King over you? You suffered more than I did at the hands of the Boltons, you did more to secure us that victory. Despite all that, you could have been reduced to a pawn all over again. There are people who still intend to do that to you. When a man does what you’ve done, he’s given a lordship, he’s given respect, he’s a hero. You’ve been putting up with the man who sold you to your raper for the good of the North. You’ve given your service to people who are happy to completely ignore what you do, what you have done, and never even cared to help you in the first place. Tell me, how is that any different from what happened with The Watch. You were told that Northerners were loyal. They spat in your face when you came to them for help, they shamed you for your rape, they abandoned you. You had to resort to working with a man you hate to save us. And after that, all of those men who abandoned you came out of the woodwork to praise me for your triumphs and give me what is rightfully yours. And you’re still working to serve them.”

“I didn’t die, Jon. I didn’t have to kill a man I respected.”

“You had to accept the fact that your little brother was a dead man walking. I couldn’t do that. I almost got everyone killed because I couldn’t. You didn’t die. I wasn’t raped for months on end. You’ve been more vulnerable than I in so many ways, Sansa. But you’ve still done so much without recieving any of the credit or respect that you deserve. So please don’t call yourself petty. We’ve both been used in the worst ways.”

She nods. “But Jon… I believe there are people who are truly loyal to you.”

“And I believe people can fall in love.” He smiles sadly. “Ironic, isn’t it? Out of the two of us, the lady and the soldier, it’s the lady who still believes in honor in combat and the soldier who still believes in love.”

“Perhaps we’re just naive in different places.”

Jon chuckles. “I don’t think so. The last woman I loved shot me three times. And I know you’ve seen combat and what war does to people. Perhaps we feel the way we do because we want to believe in one another. I’m in love with you, and you want to see me as a hero.”

“I do see you as a hero.” She swallows heavily. “If I can fall in love… It shall be with you, Jon. And I am going to try.”

His stomach flips. “I didn’t tell you all that to make you feel guilty, Sansa. You don’t have to try, not now. I don’t want you to—”

“—No, Jon, I want to try because I feel inspired. You carry a blade, you go to battle, you fight despite everything you’ve learned. Despite everything you feel. If you can do that, I can try to love you as you love me.” She smiles through her tears. It’s a real smile and it’s stunning. “Perhaps I already do and just don’t know it yet.”

His heart swells at that. “And if—?”

“If I do, then I think it’s only natural that we wed.” She retrieves a handkerchief from her skirts and wipes her eyes. “There are other routes to peace. And you’re right: we deserve better than what we’ve gotten. We shouldn’t deny ourselves love.”

Jon grins, suddenly excited. “So then, where shall we start?”

“Well, I think it shall be safer for Bran if we don’t reveal his greenseeing. But we can’t publicly court until people know the truth about you. Luckily, Bran told me Howland Reed was present when Father retrieved you from the Tower of Joy. So we have another source for the information. He’s heading to WInterfell to retrieve his daughter, so it shouldn’t take long. Once that has been established, I suppose we could take more walks together. Not just on business but just for one another’s company. We can write love letters and exchange tokens.”

This is as he’d expected from Sansa. Traditional courtly love, like one of her childhood books. She used to give the boys “lessons” from them on how to treat ladies. He doesn’t mind. Even with Ygritte, though he loved their wild, brazen romance, he’d sometimes fantasize about doing those things with her. Feasting her in the Great Hall, taking her for walks in the godswood, giving her flowers from the Glass Gardens, seeing her in silks, showing her the great keep, walking with her on his arm so everyone could see she was his.  
But he blushes. “I should warn you, I’m not skilled with words. Sam once asked me to describe Ygritte and what it was like being with her, and as much as I loved her, all I could come up with was, ‘She had red hair’ and ‘You’re with another person, but they’re not another person. You’re the same person.’ I’m an idiot. Any letters I write you will likely prove disappointing.”

“Just say what you feel, Jon. I don’t expect great poetry. I’ve been more moved by what you’ve said here than I have by the most polished compliments.”

“And when may I kiss you?” He asks, feeling like a greenboy but liking it for once.

“I don’t know yet. When I decide that you may.” Now she blushes as she giggles, but it merely turns her cheeks a soft, pretty rose. She doesn’t look like a tomato like he does when he flushes. He marvels at how she can do so much so prettily.

Jon feels something he hasn’t felt for a long time. He feels young.

“And when we decide to wed, may I announce it immediately?”

“You may announce it that evening.”

“And how long between then and when we marry?”

“However long it takes for me to make my gown and cloak and for the proper guests to arrive. A few weeks, I imagine.”

“May we begin writing letters before Lord Reed arrives?”

“As long as you are discreet, yes.”

Jon sits back in his chair then. He’s tired, but in a pleasant sort of way. He gazes at Bran, still asleep. There’s quiet for a while. His giddiness subsides somewhat. Sometimes he wonders if he’s capable of just ending things on a bouyant, romantic note. But their lives don’t allow for that. There’s more than affection in their relationship. They might not share the same love for one another yet, but what they do share is life, real life. 

But he doesn’t want to be dour, even if he has to speak of the real world and their future in it. So he speaks of something that matters without being mired by death. He speaks of life.

“I want there to be a better world for our children. I want to do right by Bran and Arya. And I want to make sure the children to come have better childhoods than we did.” He looks to Sansa. “I will teach my sons and daughters to be strong, but I’m not going to teach them that there’s glory in war. I’m going to make sure that they know from an early age that most soldiers on either side are innocent people who don’t have a choice. I’m going to make sure they understand why I don’t want the Iron Throne. I won’t promise my daughters to men I know nothing about just because of their name or title. I will makes sure that only the gentlest of men come close to them. And I won’t favor the boys over the girls. If my first child is a princess, she shall be my heir. And if I have a boy who loathes to fight and loves to read, I’ll love him for it. I won’t let my children become weapons or pawns. I won’t let them feel any less important than the others. And they will be my first priority, even if I have to sacrifice my honor for their safety. Most of all, I won’t have us separated. Not until they’re truly old enough.”

She laughs. “And what is truly old enough, in your mind?”

Jon considers this. “Sixteen.”

“For the boys or the girls?”

“Both.”

“And if they want to join another court or squire for a knight or join the CItadel or the Watch?”

“They can squire for a local knight. Everything else shall be sixteen. And whenever they leave home, they will have a dozen guards each.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m a product of my times.” He folds his arms and gazes at Bran some more. “You’re right. It’s better if people don’t know. At least, not yet. Not until we understand things better. Bran returned from Beyond the Wall, the lands of our enemies. And people distrust magic in general. We can’t even know if this is a good thing for him.”

“At least he’s back here where he belongs.” There’s silence for a while. And Jon feels it. Peace. He knows it’s fleeting. But it’s there for the first time in years.


End file.
